The Perfect Life
by ShesRotten96
Summary: When a young women decides to try her luck in the city of Los Santos, she doesn't expect to meet a psychotic meth addict, as well as his gangster friends. She wanted a normal life in the city, a legitimate life, but that all changes quite fast. Here's to starting the Perfect Life.


**A/N: So, I decided to make this story as I was playing GTA. I love Grand Theft Auto, and I've been playing the game since the third installment. I love Trevor's character, and really wanted to keep this story as original to his character as possible, but it's not going to be perfect. This storyline kind of came out of nowhere, but I decided to give it a whirl right around the plot point of the Merryweather heist. I seriously hope you all enjoy it, and I should have another chapter out by next week.**

* * *

 **The Perfect Life: Chapter One**

I would have never expected myself to end up in Los Santos. I would have never expected myself to be working in La Puerta, either. Of course, most people never expect themselves to end up where they are.

I had come to Los Santos when I realized that Washington was no longer going to provide me with what I needed in the form of monetary gain. I knew that I wasn't the big city type of girl. I had grown up around hunting and wheeling, and snow. What the hell was I going to do in Los Santos where literally none of those things were in that culture?

When I first came here, I realized rather quickly that everyone was shallow. And when I say shallow, I mean horrifyingly full of each other. I was astounded with the way they drove, the way they carried themselves, and even the way they talked loudly and with ridiculous hand gestures on the phone, going into great detail about their personal lives in front of strangers on the street. I wasn't a sheltered child, either. I had grown up around Longshoremen after all, yet these people were insane.

When I had bagged the job at the Port of Los Santos, I was excited, simply because I knew I would be working around people that I had grown up with all my life. How wrong was I.

My first day on the job I was almost fired for being a woman, even though I had stated clearly on the several phone interviews I had needed to complete for the job, that I was a woman. How they couldn't tell by my voice was also astounding, but I suppose some people just aren't that observant.

When I got to the Port that morning, I gave the security guard at the entrance my TWIC card, showing him that I was legally allowed to be on the docks. He stared at the picture on the card, and then back up at my face at least six or seven times, before reaching into his shack to make a radio call. Before I knew what was going on, there were three or four LSPD cop cars surrounding the entrance to the Port.

"There is _no_ way you didn't forge this! I've seen way too many people think they can get on down here with mediocre photo shopping skills, but not today!" The guard was practically screaming in my face.

"What are you even talking about?! I'm new down here, yeah, but this is legitimate! I don't even know why you called the cops!" I shouted into his face, at which point the Sheriff who had been looking at my ID stepped in.

"Son, she's allowed down here. Look here, the registrations date, down in the corner…that is signed in ink by the Head of Security. She can't very well forge that signature, as I'm sure you know. You did your job, but next time, a little less bravado, please? We have other shit to attend to and not some jumped up little shit guard that takes his job too seriously. You can go ahead, Miss, sorry for the wait." The Sheriff said in a rush, nodding the go ahead at me. I took the TWIC card from his hand, and got back into my Nissan Xterra to head onto the Port. I was shaking my head at what had just occurred. I mean, seriously, the first day on the job and I'm almost _arrested_? I knew Los Santos was high on crime rate, but I didn't think it was _that_ bad.

I warily crawled my vehicle along the dock, wondering where I should park. I knew there was a possibility that my car could be hit by a pay loader or forklift zooming along at their top speeds, wherever I _did_ decide to park it, so I wanted to choose carefully.

I finally found a spot, quite far from the berth that I was working, but I decided it would have to do for my first day on the job. Maybe I could ask around and find a better place to park, but first I had to be on good terms with my new coworkers, and considering how things had gone down when I first arrived, I wasn't so sure of what was going to happen.

I walked along the dock, my hard hat already atop my head, knowing I would have my ass chewed out if it were not on. I spotted a man with the same LS Longshore blaze orange vest that I was wearing, and decided to approach him, cautiously, as his back was turned to me.

"Excuse me, but this is berth nine, right?" I asked him, and he turned slowly.

"Y-yes, it is, ma'am, but I don't know what you're doing down here. Can I help you to the nearest port entrance?" The man had a timid voice, and seemed extremely nervous; why I didn't know. Before I had a chance to tell him that I worked here now, and that everybody that I came across would have to get used to the idea, a large man came up to us, seemingly out of nowhere. He was wearing a vest, the same as my new companion and I, but he had scars all over his rough face, marring it.

"Floyd, what the hell are you doing? Look, I know you don't get any at home, but this is a place of business. Now, get the hell out of here lady, we have business to attend to." He yelled, rather loudly, right next to my face.

"What the fuck is it with you people? I _work_ here for Christ Sakes, stop telling me I have to leave, you fuckers. Seriously, it's getting old. I thought almost being arrested was enough this morning, but this is just fucking old." I said, spewing out what I had felt from the beginning this morning. The guy named Floyd looked surprised, yet at the same time a dreadful look took over his face, seemingly knowing something that I didn't.

"Well then, that's perfect, honey! You can help us out, show us your worth. I mean, after all, a woman doesn't belong on the dock, so, uh, you'll have to prove to us you belong here." He said, leering down at me. I realized for the first time that he was actually quite tall as I was 5'10", and he still towered over me for a good four or five inches.

"Ha, okay. Trust me, you'll be kissing my ass before the day is over. Five generations of Longshoremen say so." I said with a smirk, waiting for Floyd to show me what I was to be doing in the berth for the day.

"Oh, I hope so…" The man said, trailing down my body as he said so. I was extremely uncomfortable with the way he was looking at me, but decided to ignore it.

"So, what are we doing first, Floyd?" I asked, only looking at Floyd.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, where are our manners? You're not going to even introduce yourself? No, that's not going to do. I'm Trevor. Trevor Phillips, owner of Trevor Phillips Industries." The man stated proudly, offering his hand to me, where I reluctantly took it, and noticed how callused his hands were. I immediately recoiled from his touch, mildly repulsed by his entire being. He stared at me expectantly while Floyd just stood there, watching our interaction, looking more nervous and fidgety by the second.

"Well, aren't you going to tell us your name? Do you know how rude it is to not introduce yourself?"

I couldn't believe this guy, how ridiculously entitled he seemed and how proud he was of himself. It was an arrogant confidence that I did not envy.

"Um, one question, if you have your own 'industry', why are you working on the docks? No offense but if I were you, I wouldn't be here." I replied, ignoring his weird remark.

"Because, what I'm doing here today will help my _industry_ greatly, now what's the name? Or do I have to dig it out of you?" He asked again, emphasizing the word industry.

"Brandi."

"Brandi? Just Brandi? Huh, so your parents didn't give you anything other than _Brandi_? Not even a last name? That's unfortunate." He sneered my name, and I really did not like it.

"Last name is Anderson, asshole. Now shut the fuck up so we can get to this." I was tired of the day already and I had just started, and something in my gut made me think that the day was going to drag. I looked over at Floyd, and saw that he looked downright scared. I had the sudden revelation that something was completely wrong with this situation, and maybe Floyd trying to show me to the nearest port exit was because he didn't want me around for it.

"Oh, you _do_ have a mouth on you. I always liked girls with pretty mouths." Trevor said perversely. I looked up at him, realizing he was probably dangerous. I didn't want to get caught up in a report the first day, because of some asshole that thought he was going to do whatever he wanted to a couple of workers.

"Look, I need to get to work. I don't know what you guys are doing, or really why you're doing it. I was scheduled to unload cans in Berth Nine, and that's exactly what I'm going to do." I said pointedly, looking Trevor straight in the eye. I really didn't know if Floyd was in on whatever was happening with Trevor, but I didn't care.

"M-Ma'am, I can show you to the nearest—" Floyd started to say, probably noticing the fear that was probably making itself present on my face, when Trevor interrupted.

"You aren't going anywhere, you're in this now, too. We're just going to do a little scouting, and before you know it, your day is going to be done. And you're going to be making good money, too, don't you forget that." Trevor said loudly at first, but then trailed off into a more persuading tone of voice.

"Um, no." I said defiantly, first looking at Floyd and then at Trevor. As I said that, I turned around and started walking towards the guard shack, to ask them how the hell Trevor had been allowed on the Dock, because I was almost positive that he wasn't a Longshoreman. Before I could get three steps, I was being dragged—and when I say dragged—I quite literally mean being dragged behind a can that we had been standing next to. Trevor was grabbing at my waist, trying to find a good grip, as I kept twisting around, screaming at him to let me go. I was no match for him though, as he put his other hand around my mouth. I was screaming anyway, biting into his hand. Why the hell was this happening to me? And more importantly, why the hell did I think I would be able to make it in Los Santos?

"Trevor! Trevor! Let her go! She didn't do anything to you! Just let her go! I don't want to complicate no one, no more! She doesn't deserve this!" Floyd was yelling at Trevor, but I noticed he did nothing to try and stop Trevor from dragging me. I was sure it had something to do with the fact that Trevor would probably hurt him pretty bad if he did.

"Shut up, Floyd! We're doing it my way, and she already knows too much. She'll squeal if we let her go, and I'm sure you don't want to lose your good _union_ job here, so if you don't want that, I'd shut the fuck up if I were you!" Trevor yelled back at him. I hated the way Trevor was grabbing me, as he still tried to find a good way to hold me still with one arm around my waist, touching my left breast, and with his other arm next to my neck, wrapping his hand around my mouth to stop my screams. I was losing power and fast because of how much I was screaming and kicking.

Trevor suddenly let me go, and pushed me up against the can so my back was flat against it. He pulled a handgun out of his vest, and pointed it at my throat. I was pretty sure I heard Floyd cry out louder than I did at this.

"Here's what's going to happen, _honey_. You're going to shut. Your. Mouth. While _Floyd_ here, and I, go about our business. You're going to come with us while we scope the place out, because _I_ know that those pieces of shit up there", he stopped to wave the gun haphazardly at the ship that was stationed in Berth Eleven, " _Merryweather_ , are hiding something _very_ valuable, and I want whatever it is." He said, getting in my face at the last part, holding the gun even closer than before, to my temple this time.

"This is bullshit." I said, looking down at the gun in his hands. It was my first day on the job here in La Puerta, and I was already having a gun pulled on me by a psychotic mother fucker, and I knew by the end of the day I wasn't going to have a job because I wouldn't have shown up to the walking boss at Berth Nine to drop cans. I was essentially fucked, and I had just gotten here. I was so scared, but I knew that I had to remain as calm as possible.

Trevor surprised me, however, by laughing boisterously loud at what I had said, or I presumed at what I had said. I didn't know why he thought it was so funny, but he had lowered his arm from my face, that had a gun attached to it, and I did something _very very_ stupid. I grabbed the handgun that was now loose in his hand as fast as I could and jammed the safety—that I noticed had been on—off. I shoved the barrel of the gun at his face, and he took a step back, hitting _his_ back now on the other container that was across from us.

"Oh God, don't kill each other…" I heard Floyd whimper, but I didn't look at him, I needed to keep my focus on Trevor, in case he tried anything.

"No. This is what's going to happen, _Trevor_. I'm going to keep this gun pointed at your fucking skull long enough for you to understand that I'm not helping you, or doing whatever you want me to do with Merryweather. And I'm going to go to security and tell them right fucking now what's going on with you and Floyd. If you _ever_ point a gun at _my_ head again, you better fucking hope I don't get a free hand during the process like this." I said, jabbing the barrel into his cheek with every word. He just smirked at me, the scar on his lip becoming more prominent.

I had no idea what came over me, what had possessed me to do what I had done, but I didn't regret it, because Trevor was not trying to go for the gun. He wasn't trying much of anything in fact.

"Floyd, get out of the way. I'm going." I said, not looking at Floyd, but knowing from my peripheral that he was blocking the way. I backed slowly away from Trevor, never lowering the gun as I did so.

I wasn't expecting the blow that struck me over the head and knocked me unconscious from behind. I didn't expect that _at all_.


End file.
